Renegade (Phandom Big Bang)
by awesomesockes
Summary: It's World War 2. Phil, a young German soldier, is stationed in Denmark. There he meets Dan - a rebellious Danish school boy who is intent on making his job hell. But before long, they realise they have more in common than they'd have thought. How do you hide a friendship when you come from two different sides of a war? Fluff/angst/war/violence/death (it's really good)
1. Chapter I

**Renegade**

**Author: **awesomesockes TUMBLR URL**  
>Beta: <strong>realityisnoplacetolive TUMBLR URL**  
>Artist: <strong>project-library TUMBLR URL

**Summary: **It's World War 2. Phil, a young German soldier, is stationed in Denmark. There he meets Dan - a rebellious Danish school boy who is intent on making his job hell. But before long, they realise they have more in common than they'd have thought. How do you hide a friendship when you come from two different sides of a war?

**A/N: **Story wrote for the Phandom Big Bang. Also I didn't live in the 1940's.. This is pure fiction.**  
><strong>**Contains:** Fluff/angst/forbidden love/relationship development.**  
>Warnings: <strong>War/violence/homophobia/death/alcohol/vomit.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13/R.**  
><strong>**POV:** Point of view changes from chapter to chapter.  
><strong>Words:<strong> 2.881/20.187

**Renegade **I

* * *

><p><strong>Phil -<strong>

I missed my family the most. That was probably the worst part—not knowing when or even if I was going to see them again. I'd just been thrown into another country without any warning, forced to follow orders from strangers, walk in lines, and be horrible to people I didn't even know… and I barely even understood why.

My name is Phil Lester. The year was 1943. I was a twenty-year-old German soldier stationed in Denmark and I'd been in Copenhagen for a little over a week now. Maybe. I'd lost track of time even before I'd gotten there. The monotony of doing the same thing day after day made it difficult to keep things straight.

I wasn't anyone important in the war, that's for sure. Holding a gun made me feel sick and everyone knew that I wouldn't last as much as ten minutes in the field. Instead, I'd been sent here to guard the town with a group of my comrades, some more significant than others. But I was good at following orders and I was good at reading and writing—both German and English—which was definitely an asset in this part of the war. At least I could be somewhat useful here.

I was walking down the street alone when I saw him—standing by himself in an abandoned alley. He was a brown-haired boy, probably around my age, but it was hard to tell from that distance. I stopped, paralysed, just staring at him. He had his back turned towards me, so I couldn't see his face and he couldn't see mine either. I didn't even know if he'd noticed me yet. The sun was about to go down and I wasn't sure I was meant to be on this street at this time, at least not alone. And I definitely knew he wasn't meant to be here.

I turned my head slowly and looked around, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible so he wouldn't notice, hoping someone else would come to help me. This was the first time I'd been so close to one of them. The enemy, as the other soldiers in my troop liked to call the Danish people. I couldn't quite figure how I saw them yet. I didn't know any—never spoken to one. I'd only observed them from a distance.

But I knew one thing. If he spotted me, he'd run, if only because I was looking as official as it got, standing there in the dark in my stiff, green, German uniform with a matching hat. My boots were black and polished—the same colour and shine as the belt around my waist. A red armband wrapped around my upper arm as a part of the uniform, and golden buttons ran all down my clothes. I hated every single one of them. The way they looked, the way they were shining… everything.

I could choose to leave him, the boy. Just walk on without saying a word and forget I ever saw him. But then I wouldn't be doing my job because I could see exactly what he was doing. And I knew that we had been looking for him for days—probably weeks—but I'd not been here long enough to know.

I glanced down at myself to make sure everything was in the right place. If I couldn't make him stop by telling him off, maybe I could just scare him away. "H-hey!" I tried yelling, but I hadn't meant to stutter. It didn't even make him turn around. Instead he just continued to draw on the posters that hung in the alley. I straightened my back, trying to look as tall and important as possible before marching towards him.

"You can't do that!" I went on in the best English I could manage, not even sure if he understood what I was saying. If I'd tried in German he probably wouldn't understand either.

He didn't answer me right away—just keep standing there with his back turned to me, facing another poster.

"Or what?" the boy muttered harshly under his breath as I stepped closer. He didn't move away. He didn't even turn around to look at me, and he sounded far more arrogant than concerned.

I turned my head quickly, hoping for one of two things: either that one of my colleagues would come and help me, or that no one was witnessing this.

"How would you stop me?" His voice was shaking slightly, even though he sounded confident enough to be a soldier himself.

"I could report you and you'll get in trouble," I said, loud and clear, while brushing my finger lightly over the pistol sitting in my belt just to remind myself that I had it.

"Okay. Do it. Feel free," he answered. He raised his hands up behind his head, locking his fingers together.

I hesitated for a moment before grabbing his hands to force them down so I could turn him around. But this was too easy; no one would surrender like this, and certainly not someone like him. I stopped my movements while all kinds of situations ran through my head. He could just turn around, hit me in the face and run.

I took a deep breath before continuing. After all, I was the one in charge. I was a soldier and he should show respect. I could get in much bigger trouble for not doing anything about it while I had the chance.

I spun him around, but instantly let go of him when I saw his face. He was just a kid, probably not more than fifteen or sixteen years old.

"I'm not infected, you know," he spoke, sounding rather confused. "At least not yet." His tone changed and he took a big step backwards now that I'd let go of him. "Maybe I will be now that a German has touched me." The boy spat to his left to indicate how disgusting I was.

Any other soldier in my troop would've beaten him up for that. But not me. Half the time, I wanted to spit at the sight of me too. It was disgusting, how we were walking into another country, just taking over, controlling things we shouldn't even be bothered thinking about. I didn't even want to be here. But my country was at war, and that was just how it had to be.

"I-I'm sorry..." I murmured and took a step away from him, knowing full well that that was the last thing I should be doing.

"You're sorry?" he scoffed, but quietly, as neither one of us were meant to be here at this time. "What kind of soldier are you?"

He walked towards me, stepping into the light of the streetlamps nearby, making it possible for me to see his face properly. He wasn't like anything I'd pictured. His clothes were clean and well fitting, so dark that he almost blended into the darkness of the night. His hair was pushed backwards so I could see his forehead. I just stared at him. He kind of reminded me of my fifteen-year-old brother back in Germany. Just a kid, stuck in the middle of this chaos.

"I-I think you should use your talent on something else," I mumbled, pointing at the wall behind him. His eyes followed my finger and travelled further on until they landed on a poster of Hitler hanging on the red brick wall.

"What do you mean talent?" he asked me, his voice quavering slightly.

"The drawing," I said. The boy turned back around and gave me a questioning glare. "Or you're going to be in trouble."

"You don't look like one who's going to do anything about it though."

I thought about his words. I could turn him in—I was meant to turn him in—but I didn't want to, for the same reason that he was vandalising the posters. We both hated this war. And what was the point in turning him in anyway? He'd just be another kid in trouble.

"No," I breathed out shortly, straightening my back and lifting my chin. "I'm not." I smoothed out the sleeves on my uniform so everything looked perfect once again.

"Thank... you?" But he made it sound more like a question rather than a comeback.

"Just stop drawing on the posters," I told him quickly, before turning my back to him so I could leave.

"And how would you make me?" he asked, his tone arrogant. I stopped walking and turned around to face him again. His arms were crossed against his chest and he held himself tall, obviously trying to look intimidating.

I sighed softly as I moved back to him, not wanting to talk too loud in case someone heard us. We'd already talked for too long.

"I mean… You're a German soldier," he went on. "If you can't make me, then who can?"

He uncrossed his arms as I approached, knowing well that I had the power to get him arrested right then and there.

"Listen," I began quietly. "I don't want to do anything to you. I understand how this must be for you, caught up in a war. I know you're upset about us being here, about what we stand for. And you know what? I don't want to be here either, but I've got orders to follow. And right now I'm breaking them. I just want to go back home, to my brother and my mum. And I want to get my father back home from the frontlines before it's too late, understand?"

I was whispering harshly now, feeling myself getting more frustrated and angry about his behaviour. "Just stop before someone else finds you, because they will for sure not be this nice." I pointed threateningly at him. I shouldn't even be dealing with this. "But I do not have any intention of making more chaos in this war."

Turning him in could split a whole family apart. I didn't know who he was, I didn't even know his name, but I could tell from the way he looked that he came from an important household. Money certainly wasn't a problem from the way he was dressed.

He didn't answer me; he just kept staring straight ahead while breathing heavily. It wasn't particularly cold outside, but I could still see his breaths in the poor lighting.

I moved my gaze past him to get a look at his work. A black, white, and red coloured poster of Adolf Hitler was hanging flat against the wall in front of me. The picture had been ruined by some red paint, but the drawings were far more artistic than most of the others I'd seen. The whole empty space beside Hitler's head was covered in small cartoons of dying and suffering people and crying children, either wearing striped clothing or completely naked. A knot tightened in my stomach as my gaze followed the new red lines. He'd turned Hitler's moustache into a full face-covering beard and given him big, round glasses. Somehow, he'd actually made him look even more angry and evil than he already looked.

"Something is missing…" I mumbled quietly, still with my eyes glued on the poster. The brown-haired boy moved his eyes away from me to look at his own work.

"What do you mean?"

He took a step back so he was standing beside me instead, clearly not comfortable with standing with his back towards me.

"You know... Something kinda like a hat, or maybe a devil's horn. Yeah, devil horns would do," I said, as if we'd done this together before. Confused, he moved his eyes from me and then back to the poster, making sure we were talking about the same thing.

"Were you the one who drew him shot dead a while back?" I asked, turning my attention towards him.

"I don't know what you're talking about..." he muttered under his breath.

"I remember seeing a poster like that in the office a few days ago. There was this perfectly drawn gun on it, just beside Hitler's head…" The words sounded strange to me. I could get shot for talking about it like this. But it felt calming, finally being able to get some relief from my thoughts without being scared of the consequences because, for once, I wasn't talking to another soldier. "The funny thing was that the swastika had been transformed into something you could easily mistake for a penis."

The younger boy next to me let out a quick giggle before his face turned back to emotionless, continuing to stare straight ahead. I smiled into the darkness, hoping he wouldn't notice.

Silence fell upon us. There was no noise besides the sound of our breaths fading together.

"Do you draw too?" he then asked me calmly, turning his head to face me. It was the first personal question I'd received since I'd got here. I was taken aback by his confidence and courage to keep on talking to me, not even trying to run away. He didn't seem scared of being here alone with me, which was something new. This was the longest a Dane had ever spoken to me without calling me "nazi-svin".

"No," I answered simply, turning my head to watch him. I was only slightly taller than him, but just enough so I had to look down to catch his eyes. "I'm useless," I said with a small smile.

"Everyone can draw."

"No they can't."

"They can."

"No."

"Wanna try then?" His mouth turned into a small smirk as he held out a pencil in front of me.

I had to admit that it was tempting, just grabbing the pencil and drawing a few lines alongside his. "No, I can't," I ended up answering. I was simply too scared.

"What a shame."

"I'm a soldier," I reminded him, in case he'd forgotten. I'd accidentally made it sound harder than I'd actually meant it, causing him to become quiet again. His eyes moved back down to my uniform. My commanders would see any kind of vandalism as sabotage, and if a German soldier became an alleged accomplice... I couldn't even bring myself to think about the consequences.

Again, I found us standing in complete calmness, both focusing on the poster. My leader—his enemy—staring back at us. It would have been peaceful, almost beautiful, if it weren't for the English bomber aeroplanes crossing above our heads, breaking the silence of the night.

In sync, we both leaned our heads back to watch them flying low over the town. I counted five, knowing that at least ten or fifteen had flown past this morning.

"What a war, huh?" I breathed out, happily forgetting for a second who I was standing with.

"Yeah..." he sighed in response.

Then there was nothing else to say about that. People didn't talk about the war, at least not out in the open. Sometimes it was like nothing was happening. But then, sometimes, moments like these happened. These quiet realisations that we were involved in something that forced us to consider people we didn't even know our enemies, for reasons we only vaguely understood.

"I need to leave," I said quickly. Only then did I notice that we were both still staring up at the sky. A lone star was shining through the night sky, surrounded by dark blue clouds, and the sun was almost completely gone.

"Yeah, me too," the boy agreed in a low, drifting voice.

"You like the sky?" I'd lowered my chin once again, making it possible to stare at him instead.

"Who doesn't these days?" he asked, still with his neck craned backwards. "It's just living its own quiet life up there, not even trying to care about what's going on here. If it wants to rain, it does. If it wants to make sunshine, it does. No rules, just freedom and peace."

"Then you and they sky would be great friends. None of you are listening."

I pulled on the brim of my cap to straighten it back in place before spinning around on my heels. This time I would actually leave him, which would probably make for a major regret at some point in the future if anyone were to ever find out.

Without looking back or speaking another word, I started walking away. Walking like I'd never seen him—never even noticed him. I was lost in my own thoughts, one step at a time, focusing straight ahead with my head held high.

"Wait!" he yelled after me. "Wait a second," he kept on. I'd reached the end of the ally and was now exposed to the nearby street where I for sure wouldn't be the only other person. Regretting it before I even made the movement, I turned around and gave my attention back to him.

"What's your name?" he said once he could look me in the eyes.

"Phil," I answered simply. I didn't want him to know my whole name in case he told someone I had let him off. Thinking about it for a second, I then asked, "What's yours?"

"I'm Dan."


	2. Chapter II

**Renegade**

**Words:** 2.554/20.187

**Renegade **II

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><p><strong>Dan -<strong>

My dreams were interrupted by the sound of light knocking on my door, and I rolled over in my bed so I could face whoever decided to walk in. Not that I really cared anyway.

"Vi venter kun på dig, Daniel," (We're only waiting for you, Daniel) our maid spoke in Danish, somehow managing to sound even more frustrated than she had the last time she'd come to hurry me along, just ten minutes ago. But of course, she bore a good amount of the blame every time I refused to show up for the things my father so happily arranged in this house, so it made sense for her to be mad.

"Det ved jeg," (I know) I groaned loudly from my way-too-comfortable bed. They were always waiting for me. It was like an unwritten rule that I would be late, mostly because I couldn't understand why I even had to be there in the first place for these kinds of events. I didn't want to be a part of them—I wasn't even the least bit interested in the conversations my father would have with his guests, nor was I allowed to participate. Not that I had anything to say anyway. My mum would argue with my dad about whether or not I should be required to attend, saying I was still her "little boy" and that I shouldn't be involved in these matters yet. Usually I hated when she'd call me that, but when it came to this, I was on her side for once.

"Din far bliver sur." (Your father is going to be mad) She stumbled into my darkened room and moved determinedly towards my closed blinds, which were blocking out all incoming sunlight. It was just how I liked it: dark and silent.

"Fint!" (Fine!) I spat at her as I swung my legs over the side of my bed, getting ready to get up. From a distance, I glared in her direction, regretting it even as I did so because I knew that she wasn't the one who gave the orders; she was only delivering them. But I couldn't help but feel irritated with her because the words came from her mouth.

"Lad være med at kigge på hende på den måde, Daniel," (Don't look at her like that, Daniel) my mum suddenly interrupted us as she showed up in my doorway. I stood up from my bed, moving my gaze to my mum and feeling the regret disappear and be replaced by annoyance. Still, they weren't her orders either.

"Whatever," I groaned loudly as I walked past her to get out. But I didn't even get five metres down the corridor before my mum stopped me, pulling on my arm gently.

"Did you really think you could go down there looking like this?" she snapped, but not too harshly. Only now did I look at her closely for the first time that day. She looked so concerned, yet so confident, standing there in front of me. I'd always admired her for standing up to things the way she did.

"How do I look then? And why is it a problem?" I decided to change my tone towards her. I knew this wasn't her decision—she hadn't agreed to any of this and I knew that all too well. The fights between my parents at night gave it away. But sometimes it felt like she was agreeing. Like when her face was just as emotionless as theirs, when she didn't even blink, when she kept quiet about everything. Fighting them in silence—that was what she called it. She'd accepted that this was just how the world was now, but I couldn't do that. I couldn't just sit back and keep quiet while they were killing millions of innocent people.

"You just need to sort your hair out," she sighed. "And your shirt is wrinkled, Dan," she continued, slowly dragging a finger over the folded fabric. "Too late to fix that now."

We were interrupted by loud laughter coming from downstairs. Both our heads turned towards the noise and we froze in place, standing still in the dark hallway with nothing but the sound of our breathing.

Without saying another word, I turned around and started walking towards the bathroom. Nothing more needed to be said. My mum walked back down the stairs to continue doing as she always did: being a statue—quiet and unmoving—as the soldiers invaded not just our country, but our own home as well.

Looking into the bathroom mirror, I hated everything about the reflection I saw staring back at me. The way my slightly-too-long hair needed to be pushed up and brushed out to the side neatly. The way my tie was always tight around my neck, feeling almost as though it was suffocating me. I hated it—the perfection. It was always white shirts, red ties, and black jackets; I looked more like character from a stereotypical French movie than a sixteen-year-old Danish schoolboy.

I tried to smooth out the sleeves of my shirt. Lying down while wearing it had probably not been the best idea, seeing as I knew this would happen, and I'd lived enough years in this family to know that smooth, unwrinkled clothes were valued higher than most things in this world.

I stopped to take a deep breath on every single step down, like I always did in these kinds of situations. It was mostly to drag the time, but also because walking into a room full of people I vehemently disagreed with was the most frightening thing I could think of. Not even getting caught with red paint all over me whilst standing in an ally could be worse. No. This. This was the worst part. The alleys were dark and easy to escape from if you knew how. But this was completely different because it was my house. I could say something wrong, breathe wrong, act wrong. There were so many opportunities.

But I couldn't let that affect me, so I walked in with my head held high. Keeping my face as straight as possible, I took my final steps into our dining room, which was filled with people in matching green uniforms. They were all speaking German to each other, and even though I understood almost every word, I'd always pretend I couldn't even form a sentence. They were all arrogant enough to think that every single Danish person should be able to understand their language and I wouldn't let them have that.

But as I entered the room, I saw him. The sight made my stomach turn. My heart rate rose and the thought of walking straight out was overwhelming. He was just standing there, in the opposite corner of the room, as far away from me as was physically possible but still close enough for me to recognise him. I was sure he hadn't seen me yet by the way he was standing. He was all calm and confident looking, with his shoulders relaxed and his head turned slightly to the side, following along with a conversation that he obviously had no interest in. And I was just watching him, unable to take my eyes off of him because it was all so unbelievable. He was in my house now. The German soldier I met that one night—now he was in my house, standing on my floorboards, holding my glass in his hand.

"Hallo Daniel, wie geht es Ihnen?" (Hello Daniel, how are you?) A German officer pushed me out of my trance with his question.

"Alles gut…" (Fine) I mumbled back, purposely using the worst German accent I could manage. I couldn't even bring myself to look at him even though I was supposed to. My eyes could only concentrate on the black-haired soldier who was standing in the corner, holding his green hat under his left arm. His hair was cut short on the sides, just like the first time I saw him, but now that he had his hat off, I could see that it wasn't that short all the way around. No. It was almost as long as mine.

"Kig på ham imens han taler til dig, Daniel!" (Look at him while he's speaking to you, Daniel!) my dad snapped behind my back as he walked by.

"Entschuldigung, Herr," (Sorry, sir) I apologised. I turned my attention to the man in front of me. He looked familiar, but of course they all kind of did. Or at least they did if you watched them all from a distance and not individually. I blinked slowly up at him, my mind still not able to contain all this at once.

"Excuse me sir, but I really have to go." And with that I just walked away. And I knew I was going to hear for that later. I could always blame it on a stomach ache, but I wasn't sure if my parents would buy that.

"Are you okay, Daniel?"

I moved to register who was talking to me, only to find that it was one of the girls from the kitchen. I had escorted myself out of the dining room and instead was hiding in the hallway leading towards the kitchen.

"Yeah, fine. Absolutely fine." I smiled. "Just needed a little break, you know? You don't have any water or lemonade, do you?" I asked.

"The food will be ready in about two minutes. Everyone is sitting down now, so I think you should go in." She spoke seriously, as if something bad would happen if I didn't. "There's water on the table, but I'll ask Hanne to bring some lemonade for you, okay?"

I nodded, but my mouth was all dry and I was starting to feel light-headed. I wasn't totally sure why, as he obviously hadn't told anyone about that night. If he had, I definitely wouldn't be standing here a free man. I might not even be standing at all.

"I'll follow you." She smiled calmly. Grabbing my hand, she led me out of the hidden hallway to show me back to the table. Everyone had already sat down, which of course made this ten times more awkward than it already was. I hated being the centre of attention, especially when the 'attention' consisted of at least ten important German officers, soldiers, and my parents.

I sat down in my chair at the end of the big mahogany table before looking up and groaning internally. He was right there—the soldier sitting next to me on the long side of the table—and I knew all too well that he'd realised already from the way he was staring at me.

I tried to seem like I didn't register what was going on beside me, even though I could feel his eyes glued on me. I was scared someone was going to notice at some point if he kept doing it. He wasn't supposed to know me—he had never seen me before. I was supposed to be a stranger, and you don't look at strangers like that.

"Stop it," I breathed out through clenched teeth. Mostly I wanted to kick him beneath the table to make sure he would understand what I was telling him, but that was too much of a risk in case I'd hit someone else. Still, I didn't dare look in his direction, even though everyone else was busy with their own conversations. It wouldn't even look suspicious if I did talk to him, as he was a guest in my house, but I didn't want to take a chance.

"Lemonade, Mr. Howell?" a servant asked me.

I blinked to my side, getting a quick glance at the man beside me in the process. He still was just staring.

"Please," I mumbled back. With her in between us, I could allow myself to look directly at him. He wasn't anything like the other soldiers I'd meet throughout the years they'd been occupying this town. He wasn't looking at me in disgust, he didn't make me feel useless and unwanted. No. His gaze was warm and calming, caring almost. His eyes were deep and blue, like they were able to stare into your soul and read your mind, just with a quick look. Mine just seemed brown and boring compared to his. The moment was long and almost intimate without trying to make it so. But nothing changed the fact that he was still a German, even if he wasn't like the others.

I searched my pocket before pulling out a silver pen and then grabbing the nearest white napkin out in front of me. My father was on my other side, deep in some kind of German conversation with one of the officers, so if I was going to do this, this was my chance.

I took a deep, shaky breath to calm myself before quickly scratching down a few words on the fragile paper, telling him to stop staring at me like that. Carefully, so as not to attract any attention, I slid it across the table in his direction. He read it over, nodded once, and crumpled the paper tightly in his hand before putting it in his pocket, hopefully to never to see the light of the day again.

"This is Philip Lester," my father said suddenly from beside me. My heart skipped a few beats during the sudden introduction. Philip Lester. The name circled in my head as I only knew him by Phil. "And this is my son, Daniel," he kept going.

I swallowed hard before stretching out my hand to give him a proper, polite greeting. He did the same and our hands met in a slow, gentle handshake. He didn't squeeze my fingers like most of the others had done before, asserting their authority over me. No. This was completely different—friendly and soft. I was taken aback by the relaxed feeling filling me. It was like he wasn't a soldier, but more like someone you'd known for a long time. His skin was soft and warm, like you could feel his soul burning through it.

"N-Nice to meet you," I choked out, tripping over my own words at the pure surprise of suddenly speaking to him. Realising what I'd just done, I immediately let go of his hand.

"He just arrived here from Germany last week," my dad informed me. Nervousness rose within me. I hated him being here enough already, as the first time we'd met had been a little unorthodox. If he opened his mouth and told anyone what had happened, I'd be leaving the country not even a second later. And if he just got here, he for sure wouldn't be leaving again soon—not when he was sitting in this kind of company. It was clear that he wasn't just another low-ranking soldier who walked around the city looking stupid. He must be important in some way. And now he was going to stay.

I moved my attention back to Phil just to catch him give a brief nod, followed by a small, not-too-obvious, but kind smile.

It was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter III

**Renegade**

**Words: **2.728/20.187

**Renegade **III

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><p><strong>Dan -<strong>

Just by standing there, they'd make me anxious. Mostly that was all they did: watch us, stand in every corner, and occupy every corridor. The way their eyes would always follow me around made me feel like I was constantly being condemned guilty for some crime I didn't even know I was committing. And today was no exception. Green-uniformed German soldiers were everywhere and I resented every single one. It was as if they'd just come to watch us breathe—make sure the Danish school children weren't taking up too much oxygen.

Even outside of school, I couldn't get rid of them. They patrolled the streets, hung out in the bars… even came into my home when my father invited them. Some days I could handle it—I'd just ignore them and try not to let the bitter thoughts consume me. But other days, like today, it was all too much. The pressure was too great. I needed to get out.

I was walking around the corner, deep in my own thoughts, when I bumped into him. My head hit his chest first, and then my whole torso collided with him, causing me to drop everything I was holding. I froze in place before realising what just had happened, my head still spinning slightly from hitting his chest. Still looking down, I could see black polished boots standing on the floor in front of me. I had walked straight into a German soldier.

Without saying a word, I hurriedly started picking up my schoolbooks. If he were anyone else, I would have yelled at him for standing in the way, but I knew that no matter what I said I'd still be considered the culprit here. I was just a simple student; to them, my words would be irrelevant.

I bent down quickly to collect my books, hoping to hurry away and avoid any trouble I would get in for not paying attention to where I was walking.

"Oh! I'm sorry," he said suddenly, bending down next to me. I still didn't dare to look at him, even though I was surprised. A German had just apologised for my mistake. In English.

Before I could get the chance, he reached for my blue notebook, which I'd dropped with my other books. But the second he touched it, he let go again like it was on fire. He looked up at me quickly, catching my gaze before I could look away again.

"You again," he mumbled under his breath while looking at me in surprise.

"A man often meets his destiny on the road he take to avoid it," I muttered back sarcastically, not even sure if he'd heard my words. The sight of him made me feel sick, almost dizzy. He was everywhere—this man who was capable of turning me in at any given moment.

Technically, I wasn't even supposed to be on this side of the school, I just knew it was the fastest way out of this place so I could get home. Even before the Germans came to my school, I'd cut through this way, getting into trouble every time I got caught. But those times were rare enough not to deter me.

With a gasp, noticed that the blue notebook on the floor was open and shut it as quickly as I could. It had landed on a page filled with some of my drawings and doodles, and I instantly regretted that I'd ever put them there. But that was the danger of letting my mind wander in a boring class.

"Why didn't you tell me you were from the Howell family?" he whispered—somewhat harshly— once we were both on our feet again and facing each other. But he looked more concerned than angry.

I glanced behind me, making sure there were no teachers or other students around before answering. "No, better question…" I began. "Why didn't you tell me you were one of the school soldiers?"

"Mostly because I'm not, but also because it's none of your business," he answered coldly.

"Well, what family I'm from is none of your business either," I answered, keeping my face as straight as his. "And if you're not a school soldier, then why are you here?"

"It's... complicated," he muttered in response. The heaviness in his voice gave me the impression that wasn't fully sure of why he was in this country, much less why he was standing in this corridor.

"They all say that," I breathed out. I leaned my back against the wall behind me. Everything was supposed to be a secret; the entire war was treated like a secret. We could see the German soldiers walking around, but only guess as to why they were here.

"It's not a lie." He smiled slightly, and then let out a deep sigh. He leaned back against the wall as well, but not too close to me.

I continued glancing over my shoulder every few seconds to see if anyone was spying on us. Every cell in my body was on edge; he was acting far too calm for this not to be a trap. What other reason could there be for him to be meeting me here? Why else would he be casually leaning up against a dirty wall in a dimly lit corridor, talking to a Danish boy? Maybe this was his way of reporting me without saying anything himself.

"There's no one, don't worry. I've checked," he informed me calmly.

"Why are you standing here anyway?" I asked curiously, slowly moving my gaze up from my feet to his face.

"I got tired of being in there," he said simply. "And they kept talking about you. The Danes, I mean…" The soldier's tone changed slightly, making him sounding almost ashamed. Was he ashamed of his own people?

"And is there anything new in that?" I replied. I couldn't quite figure how I should take his explanation. I knew how the Germans talked about us; it was almost as bad as the way we talked about them.

"Yes."

"What then?" I moved away from the wall so I could get a proper look at him, not really knowing what to expect.

"Me," was his answer.

"You?"

"Yeah..." I could tell from his facial expression that he was definitely not meant to be talking about anything. "It's just not fair. Not just you, but… us too. This whole war in general, you know? I mean it's—"

"Complicated," I interrupted quietly. I could practically hear my mother's voice in my mind, chastising me. We weren't meant to talk about the war; we weren't meant to hear about the war; we weren't meant to know about the war. The entire topic was off limits. And now I was standing here, face to face with a virtual stranger, in a public school, freely discussing it.

"Complicated," he whispered in agreement, his eyes locked with mine. Nothing about his demeanour was consistent with that of any other soldier I'd met before, and living in my father's house, I'd met quite a lot. His personality was calm and understanding, and his tone towards me was soft and friendly, like I was speaking to my best friend.

"What are you doing here?" he asked me, breaking the silence.

"I'm on my way home," I lied with as much confidence as I could muster. "The bell rang," I added quickly. He wasn't a teacher, so he couldn't really get me in trouble at school unless he told the headmaster on me, and he didn't seem the type to do that. He was already carrying one of my secrets—for which I was grateful. It would probably be best for me to stay as far away from him as possible so as not to give him any more reason to turn me in. But at the same time, part of me was glad to see him—at least glad that it was him I'd decided to run into and not someone else.

"It's eleven?" A smirk spread across his lips as he crossed his arms against his chest, knowing well that I was lying.

"Some classes got cancelled...?" I tried, but it was hopeless. Lying to him was just like lying to my mum—she could always see straight through me. "Okay, fine, so I just don't wanna be here anymore," I admitted with a sigh.

"What will you do when you get home then? Won't your parents catch you? You'll get in trouble…" He gave me a questioning look.

"I'll just sneak in. Easy. How do you think I got out the other night?"

I wasn't allowed out at night of course—no one my age was anymore. It was far too dangerous, our parents would warn us. But I couldn't stand being cooped up all the time, so I'd found my own way out. Living in a big house with many rooms and corridors meant that it was impossible for my parents to monitor all of it, meaning I could easily sneak out a window. Getting in was a little worse though.

"But you'll have to hide for hours," he said. "Even school must be more interesting than that."

"Maybe I'll sit in my closet and hide. Or write. Maybe read something."

"You like writing?"

"I love writing. It's all I'm good at." I exhaled. Just talking about it made me smile. It was good to remember that there existed other talents in the world than killing people and trying to orchestrate a war. That people could also use their minds to make beautiful things.

"Don't forget drawing," Phil added, sounding rather sarcastic.

"And drawing, yes," I giggled, clutching the notebook with my drawings tighter in my hands. I spent a lot of time inside, creating my own worlds through my stories and my artwork. I loved every second of it.

"Do you like writing?" I asked. I was trying to find some kind of common interest we could share, besides both not wanting to be inside with all the others.

He nodded. "I was actually sent here because I was good at writing and reading. The majority of the German soldiers come from poor families with different backgrounds, and they're the ones mostly sent out to the frontlines because there's not enough money to educate them properly. But I've always been really good at languages and translation, so they can use me differently."

Considering the fact that he seemed to hate the war just as much as I did, he still sounded rather proud of his job. But of course, compared to everything else in this war, he was at least lucky to be here and not out in the fields.

"So you know Danish too?" I asked curiously, standing up on my toes in excitement. Not many Germans bothered to learn another language, not even English.

He shook his head slightly. "Only a very little amount. I understand some of what you're saying, but I can't use it."

"What are you doing here then? In Denmark?" If I had the chance, I'd ask all the soldiers that question. What gave them the right to walk on our streets, take our food, and basically use our country as their own personal summer home?

"You have a lot of questions, little Dane." The soldier uncrossed his arms and stood up straight again. I took a small step backwards because our small height difference was causing him to look down on me, and I didn't like that.

"I do," I answered simply, trying to keep my voice calm.

"And I have no reason to answer you." He smoothed out his sleeves and straightened his jacket as if he were about to leave. I couldn't quite figure if I'd made him angry or just uncomfortable by my questions. Probably both.

Putting his hat back in its rightful place, he nodded at me once before spinning around on his heels. I watched as he turned his back to me and started walking away, leaving me alone in the darkened corridor.

"Write me a letter," I burst out before he got too far away. I regretted it instantly, as soon as the words left my lips. But I was desperate to know more about him. The questions were building up inside my head, and for the first time I allowed them to float out. He was so different. And I was so curious.

It made him stop his pacing and turn around to face me from down the hall. "What?" came his reply.

"I said..." I took two steps closer, pretending for just a moment that he wasn't a powerful German soldier and I wasn't a frightened Danish boy, "write me a letter. If you're so good at writing, then write me a letter, Phil," I commanded, letting my mouth say his name for the first time that day. "Prove it."

"Why?"

And for that, I didn't have an answer—at least not one that could convince him to do it if he didn't want to.

"What? Are you too busy?" I teased. I knew I was pushing it, but I wasn't really scared of him—at least not anymore. He was just a normal person to me now, which meant that I was starting to let myself act normally around him rather than treating him as a superior.

"What do you want me to write about?" Phil relaxed his shoulders again as he asked the question, sounding almost interested for once.

"I don't know." I hadn't gotten that far yet. To be honest, I was just bored. I wanted someone to talk to, and I was curious about this soldier-who-refused-to-act-like-a-soldier. But I wasn't ready to admit that yet. "Don't you have some kind of family back in Germany?" I suggested.

"Yes, but I can't—"

"Write about them." I smiled widely at him, like a little kid requesting a bedtime story from his mother. "Tell me a story, Phil. Then I'll tell you one."

I knew I had to offer him something in return. Not that I didn't want to anyway, but it was even more important now. I had to make sure he wanted to do this first, because no matter how much I tried to deny it or convince myself otherwise, he was still the one wielding all the power in this odd little relationship.

"And how should we do that, if I may ask?" he asked skeptically. "This is not a post office. And we're in the middle of a war." He lowered his chin as he stared at me, indicating just how ridiculous he thought I was being.

"If you're a school soldier, then you'll be around. And I'm a student, so I'll be around—"

"Yeah, when you're not skipping classes," he cut me off.

"I'll try working on that," I told him, my voice determined.

But it only made him shake his head quickly, followed by a small grin.

"But we can—" I paused to glance around, my eyes searching the abandoned corridor for something that could help me out, not even sure what I even was looking for, "—put the notes somewhere in here. Like…" But I really didn't have a proper plan for this. "Maybe here."

There was a cupboard near where he was standing, and I moved over to open it. No one had used this part of the school for ages, so the chance that anyone else besides us would look in there was slim to none. "Top shelf," I said, "under this Danish-to-German dictionary."

He smirked. "Coincidence."

"Kind of." I picked up the book and waved it in front of him so he could see it. "It's even green. Like you." I pointed at his chest quickly before putting the book back on the dusty shelf.

He thought for a second. "But we can't ever write our real names in case they get found. The notes I mean." He was beginning to sound like this could actually happen. "Do you have some kind of nickname?"

"You can call me Bear." I smiled and stretched out my hand towards him.

"Then you can call me Lion." He smiled back as he grabbed my hand and shook it gently.


	4. Chapter IV

**Renegade**

**Words: **2.156/20.187

**Renegade **IV

* * *

><p><strong>To Bear,<strong> **15 March 1943**

You should know that I'm barely even allowed to write letters to my own family in case of betrayal, so this is illegal in so many ways. No matter how much I disagree with the laws, I always try to follow them because I know what they do to the people who don't. And I believe you do too.

Speaking of illegal... I heard that some of the officers at your school had their hats stolen yesterday. They're looking for a suspect, so they're interviewing the teachers and other soldiers. I haven't said a word, but I know it's you. I don't know how you did it, little Dane, but I know it was you.

From Lion.

x

**To Lion, 16 March, 1943**

You can prove nothing…

Also you've wasted an entire letter and told me nothing about yourself so… What's your favourite colour?

From Bear.

x

**To Bear, 17****March 1943**

This is serious. Another poster was delivered to the German office today. Again, I didn't say anything, but I know it's you. Though I must say, the images on it are scaring me a bit. They make me think you probably know more than you're supposed to. And that is why they're so interested in catching the culprit. You know too much, Dane.

They've figured out that it's a student already. I'm not sure they know from which school, but it won't be long before they find out. I understand you're upset, but I don't want to see you get in trouble. And coming from the family that you come from… well, let's just say we don't want to think about the consequences if you're discovered. So I'm asking you to stop—both with the stealing and the vandalism. I'm not telling you this as a soldier; I'm asking you this as a friend.

My favourite colour is blue.

From Lion.

x

**To Lion, 21****March 1943**

I thought I asked you to tell me a story, not tell me how to live my life. If so, this is a pretty lame story because I don't know what you're talking about.

But let's say, purely hypothetically of course, that it _was_ me… I'd have my own reasons and I wouldn't need you to tell me otherwise. Yes, I know stuff I'm not meant to know, but it's hard to turn off your ears when the conversations are happening in your own home.

But enough about me. Blue is a beautiful colour. Have you heard from your family lately? How are they?

From Bear.

x

**To Bear, 23 March, 1943**

I'm not sure you fully understand what will happen if they discover you, or else you would have stopped. If you're found out, there will be repercussions for me too because I'm keeping your secret. It's just not worth it.

And I have not heard from my family for many weeks. I wish I knew the answer.

From Lion.

x

**To Lion, 25 March, 1943**

You don't need to protect me you know. I'm sixteen, not a child—I can take care of myself.

And I'm sorry about your family. That must be hard, the not knowing. My family is still with me, but I do worry about them, especially with my father's job. It's not safe, knowing all that he does.

I assume the thing you miss most about being here is your family, but is there anything that you like about Denmark? I could do with some cheering up.

From Bear.

x

**To Bear, 26 March 1943**

It's funny you should ask that because when I first came here, I was sure I wouldn't find anything I liked. I hated even the air I breathed for the first few weeks.

But there is one thing I like, and of course it's food. Those little pastry shells with the fish balls are pretty good. I can't remember how to spell the name.

From Lion.

x

**To Lion, 30 March 1943**

I saw you yesterday. You looked sad and I wanted to ask you what was wrong, but I was scared. I'm sorry.

It was strange seeing that—emotions on a soldier. We're not that different. I guess I knew that already, but I just seem to forget sometimes.

(By the way, the food you're talking about is called tarteletter and it's probably the best thing Denmark's got going for it. That and beer. Have you tried the beer?)

From Bear.

x

**To Bear, 31 March 1943**

My brother is turning fifteen today. I've sent him a letter, but it will never be the same. Next year he'll be old enough for the draft. It's not fair—he shouldn't be seeing this stuff yet. He's just a kid.

I'm sure you understand. You're right around his age, so you must. I don't know where they'll send him yet. I was lucky to come here—he could be sent out to dig trenches in Holland or Russia.

I'm not meant to be telling you this. I'm not even meant to be thinking about it, but I can't help it. I'm so scared he won't return. I'm scared _I _won'treturn. I've already spent three years in this hell. You're so lucky, little Dane. At least you got to grow up, and for that I'm jealous.

From Lion.

x

**To Lion, 2 April 1943**

The war has taken things away from everyone throughout the years. Not just our lives and loved ones, but our creativity and freedom too. The right to feel, the right to love, the right to speak. I'm walking around in constant fear now, same as you. It was no childhood.

I'm really sorry about your brother. I do think about that sometimes. If I were German, I'd have been enlisted in the war too, not just a hostage like I am now. I'd have been like you. Actually, I think I'd have been _just_ like you. You're not like the other soldiers and I don't really know how to treat you because I want to hate you, but I can't.

From Bear.

x

**To Bear, 3 April 1943**

I'm glad you say I'm not like them. With my head held high, I can proudly say that I'm against everything I'm meant to stand for. Everything my uniform tells me to be. This whole idea of a 'pure race' that they try to shove down our throats is disgusting and it makes me sick.

I believe that everything is here for a reason—we just have to find out which. But a war like this forbids you from forming your own opinions.

It stops you from being your own.

From Lion.

x

**To Lion, 6****April 1943**

I don't like you being here. You're making me more and more uncomfortable as the days pass by. Not you personally, but your people. They follow me. I think they know, or maybe I'm just paranoid. I'm afraid to breathe wrong anymore.

But I can't stop doing what I'm doing. The world needs to know what's truly happening, and I have the ability to let them know. So I can't stop. It's stupid, I know, to think that I'm making a difference, but I have to try.

What else can I do?

From Bear.

x

**To Lion, 9 April 1943**

I cried today. My mum caught me sneaking in and I'm afraid she's going to tell my father. I lied to her and told her I was just going to the woods to get away for a while. I don't know if she believes me.

My world is falling apart, German. The whole world is falling apart.

From Bear.

x

**To Lion, 14 April 1943**

I haven't seen you in a while. You would have told me if you were going back to Germany, wouldn't you? Maybe you're just busy working somewhere. My dad wants to take me to the German barracks soon, and I don't know why. I don't want to go, it's too close.

But I hope you're okay.

From Bear.

x

**To Lion, 17 April 1943**

I didn't see you.

From Bear.

x

**To Lion, 19 April 1943**

The air raid alarms went off yesterday. You probably know. Of course you know—everyone does. My dad says it was the German bombers. There was a meeting here with the officers right after it happened. I was hiding the whole time, but I heard everything. My dad was so angry and frustrated—it was scary to listen to.

You weren't here though, and you haven't answered me in a while. I'm not blaming you if you're scared. I'm scared too.

The war is getting closer.

From Bear.

x

**To Lion, 20 April 1943**

I'm drunk, so I'm sorry if you can't read my writing. I guess I just needed to be drunk for a while. This is my first time—can you tell? I stole the bottle from my dad's office. He was out, so I snuck in and took it. Why do people drink this stuff? It's disgusting. I guess you just drink disgusting things to get rid of disgusting thoughts... Isn't that how it works? I just want to pretend there's no war, no killing, and no controlling.

Impossible.

From Bear.

x

**To Bear, 23 April, 1943**

Hamburg has been destroyed. I got the information last week. I'm from Hamburg—my whole family lives in Hamburg—and I'm not there to protect them, even though I promised to do so. Do you know how that feels?

I don't even know if they're still alive, and I don't know how I should find out since there's nothing left down there. That's why I haven't answered you. I wanted to, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. We're talking as friends and it's wrong. I could have lost my whole family and I don't even know.

We're not safe anymore.

From Lion.

x

**To Lion, 24 April, 1943**

I am so sorry. I wish there was something I could do to help, but all I can do is to hope they're okay.

Wars break promises. There's nothing we can do about it, but that doesn't make you a bad person for being here. You will go back, Lion. And when you do they'll be standing there, ready to welcome you.

For the first time, I don't see Germans as monsters.

From Bear.

x

**To Bear, 26 April 1943**

But I am a bad person because I listen to them. I follow orders, even when I know they're wrong. I help them to do horrible things and I know it. I am a monster.

I'm sorry on behalf of my entire country—on behalf of this universe. No one asked for this.

From Lion.

x

**To Bear, 26 April 1943**

Now it's my turn to be drunk, but this is definitely not my first time. People say you should drink to push the pain away, but I believe it's the other way around. Drink to feel it properly first. Drink to feel it so much that it becomes intolerable to the point that you _can't_ think about it anymore without breaking down. Look what this war has done to us. It's turned us into machines. We must drink to remember how to be human again.

From Lion.

x

**To Lion, 29 April 1943**

I like you, no matter what your country stands for, because I know you believe in something else. And I know you're not lying because you've proven it to me. I'll never forget that.

From Bear.

x

**To Bear, 1 May, 1943**

I like to go down to the boathouse by the lake whenever I'm sad or frustrated. I often sit here when I'm writing to you too. It's calming and I'm all alone with my thoughts. It's easier to forget my circumstances when I'm sitting here by the water.

It would be nice having you here too, but sadly it's too dangerous. I'm not the only who knows this place exists. But it would be easier to talk and share stories if you were here with me. Maybe one day, Dane. Maybe one day we can sit together and talk without the fear of being found out.

From Lion.

x

**To Lion, 2 May 1943**

There's something I've been thinking about for a while and something I never thought I'd hear myself say, especially to someone like you. I miss you. I miss you so much, and I think we should meet up.

I know it's a huge risk and I understand if you don't want to… but I just want to see your face again. It's been so long since I talked to a real friend.

From Bear.

x

**To Bear, 4 May 1943**

Tomorrow, midnight, in the ally. You know which one.

From Lion.

x


	5. Chapter V

**Renegade**

**Words: **4.294/20.187

**Renegade **V

* * *

><p><strong>Phil -<strong>

"Didn't I tell you to stop with that?"

He was standing there with his back turned towards me, his hand pressed up against a poster hanging on the wall, just like the first time I'd seen him. His arm moved in a deliberate, somewhat elegant, way against the paper. He clearly knew what he was doing.

"Maybe," Dan breathed out, a little tensely. I watched him as he stopped his movements and turned around to face me. "But the rush is amazing," he continued with a guilty smile. "Thinking you might get caught at any moment… I don't know. It's kind of addicting, in an odd way."

I lifted an eyebrow in response as I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. It was so quiet out; the only sound filling the air around us was my boots hitting the ground, one step at a time, much like the first night I'd seen him. But this time I wasn't nervous. True, I barely knew anything about him, but I knew just enough. He seemed different to me now—softer. Like he'd begun to see me as an actual friend and could relax now without monitoring his every action.

"You're left-handed," I said, nodding in the direction of the poster.

"And?" he questioned, still with a silly grin on his face.

"And nothing. I just heard once that left-handed people are more creative." Whether or not I actually believed that fact, I didn't know, but the way he was drawing made it seem more plausible. I walked past him to get a better look at his work. It was just as artistically done as last time, but this poster was different. Not his usual images of people suffering and dying under German rule. No, this time flowers covered the surface. Flawless, beautiful depictions of roses, lilies, daisies, and many more flowers filled the entire poster so that no one see what was written beneath.

"I thought we could use something happy." His voice sounded timid, like he was scared of my opinion. "For once."

"It's amazing, Dan." I didn't know what else to say. It was_,_ truly, amazing.

"I guess." A small, nervous smile spread across his lips as he spoke. "Are they going to be mad about this?" he asked, sounding almost hopeful.

"Yes." I wished I could give him a different answer because this one was so beautiful, but defacing German property was taken as a serious offence. And not just by the Germans, but by the Danish as well. Maybe to an outsider it would just seem like one harmless act in the midst of the chaos of war, but it was an act of rebellion nonetheless, and that gave it power.

"You must really love your country," I remarked. Even though he shouldn't be doing what he was doing, I couldn't help but be a bit impressed. This simple sixteen-year-old had courage enough to go against the _Wehrmacht_, all by himself.

"I used to..." he sighed, avoiding my gaze by focusing on the poster instead. "But I want to love it again."

After a moment of silence, I spoke again. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah." He turned his head to put his full attention on me.

"Why didn't you run when I first met you?" It was a question I'd been wanting to ask for a while. "Why weren't you scared of me?"

Normally, the Danes would run away whenever we got close; the more daring ones would sometimes even spit in our faces as they hurried past. But Dan had just stood there.

"Because you spoke English to me," he answered, as if it were obvious. "The _real_ soldiers always just speak German. They wouldn't bother with English—just assume that everyone can speak German."

"I haven't met a Dane who couldn't yet, so..."

"That's not the point, Phil. It's rude." He raised his voice to make himself understandable, but quickly lowered it again when he seemed to remember where we were standing. "And why are you so good at English anyway? What is someone like you even doing here? And if you tell me it's complicated, I swear to God..." Dan lifted up a finger to point at me, trying to seem serious, but he couldn't maintain a straight face throughout the whole sentence.

"Morse Codes are sent to us in English. I translate them to German." My job was supposed to be kept strictly confidential—the consequences if my commanders found out I'd told anyone were unthinkable. But after what we'd talked about already, it just seemed like more insignificant information among the rest.

"What are you doing at the school then?" he asked curiously.

"That part is a little complicated actually..." I guessed that they just had to cover up why I was here in the first place. The job I had was both dangerous and important. I was wanted by both the Danish and English governments.

"Why is everything so complicated all the time?" Dan sighed as he leaned his back against the cold brick wall.

"I don't know," I said sadly. "I guess anything that involves human lives is always going to be complicated." I slowly stepped back to the poster and drew my fingers lightly across the fragile paper on which Dan had made his artwork. Even though his flowers were beautiful, they couldn't make me happy. It was hard to remember the last time I'd been happy. "What does your father do?" I asked, my back still turned towards him.

"Politics. It has something to do with the cooperation between the Danish and German governments," he started nervously, as if he was ashamed of telling me. "I'm not meant to be a part of it, but... It's hard not to. And I mean…" He cut himself off, which made me turn around to focus on him. "I've heard… stuff. And I don't know how to deal with this kind of information."

Dan released himself from the wall he was leaning against opposite the poster. Without looking at me, he walked straight by to stand right in front of it. "I want to start _something_, Phil. That is why I'm doing what I do." He drew his slender fingers across the lines on the paper, following every inch. "Sometimes it feels like everyone just sits back and accepts what's going on. I won't do that. I want to show my people that no matter how small our actions are, they still matter. And I want to show that we Danes don't just agree with everything that happens to us—that happens to the world. But everyone is so scared."

"Of course they're scared," I said softly, making him turn around.

"I don't want them to be." His voice was thick and his breaths heavy, like he was about to start crying. "I'm done with being scared, Phil."

And nothing more was said.

My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, making it possible for me to see the contour of this face. He wasn't standing more than two metres away from me, but still in complete darkness. I felt the sudden urge to be closer to him and would have closed the distance between us if he hadn't done it first. It was like he was walking in slow motion, not really wanting to go near, but then again, unable to stop himself from doing so.

He halted right in front of me, not more than a foot from my face. I could feel his warm, steady breathing hitting my neck in a slow rhythm. It wasn't cold enough to see our breath anymore, not like the first time we met. Now I could only feel it—how it trickled down my sensitive skin and ran down the back of my neck.

We were both paralysed in the moment, with nothing more than the sound of our breathing.

"C-Can I touch you?" Dan shakily whispered, blinking up at me. He didn't look away, unlike every other time he'd said something to me. This time his eyes were locked on mine.

I nodded in response. I wanted to be felt. I wanted to be acknowledged for once, and not just as another body in this god-awful war. Just for a short while, I wanted real feelings—real touches. And so, when he offered, I couldn't refuse.

I watched him as he moved his shaking hand towards my chest. His fingers only lightly brushed against the fabric of my jacket at first, nothing more than if the wind had touched me. It was as if I were poison to him.

The second time, he was more determined. I could feel he meant his actions when his hand touched my chest in one slow movement. His fingers danced across my uniform, finding their own way down my chest, only to go back up again a second later, sending shivers through me. Dan's fingers moved up towards my ears before he took off my hat and placed it between his knees. A wide, caring smile spread across his lips, making my knees as weak as straw.

Once my hat was removed, he began running his fingers through my messy hair, gently massaging my scalp. I was dying to know what was going through his head at that moment, but I didn't dare question his movements.

I inhaled a shaky breath and then let out a low, quiet moan as I felt my stomach filling with butterflies. This was so surreal and frightening, yet it felt so amazing and right. Nothing could match this feeling. I exhaled heavily, my whole body slowly turning to jelly in his arm. But he didn't say anything. He just kept moving both his hands all over me and down my chest in slow movements, carefully taking in every inch—from my tense shoulders and down my sides, ending at my hips. It was like he was making sure I was real, that I was really standing there in front of him.

The way he dragged his fingers across my cheek and brushed my hair off of my forehead made my heart rate increase. And the moment was just as beautiful as him, the pink and dark-blue night sky above us making the dim light look so perfect on his skin. He was perfect.

Forgetting for just a moment that we were in the middle of a war, I lifted my hand to his face, only to draw one gentle line on his flushed cheek with my thumb. His pale skin was soft and flawless to my touch.

I just wanted to touch him. Touch him like he'd touched me, in soft, gentle movements. Move my hands across the black fabric of his jacket; let them run down his chest, filling his body with butterflies like he was filling mine. Just touch him all over.

"You're so beautiful," I breathed out. The words just slipped out of my mouth before I got the chance to stop them. It wasn't a lie—I was just scared he was going to stop now. But he was so beautiful and so perfect, standing there in the night with me. I couldn't wish for anything else.

Still, he said nothing. But he smiled. He smiled a truly heart-warming smile—something I hadn't seen in a long time. The kind of smile that makes you feel all fuzzy inside. The kind of smile that sends shivers down your spine and makes you forget the world around you. The kind of smile you could look at for a whole day without getting sick of it, because every time you looked, it'd feel like the first time.

And then, just like that, it was over.

I froze as I heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the end of the dark alley. Breaking eye contact with Dan, I stared down the alley, past the bins, to look out to the road beyond. Someone was standing there, illuminated in the streetlight. But if he'd noticed us yet, I didn't know.

"Stop," I whispered to Dan, who immediately did as he was told and placed his arms down against his sides. Both our breaths turned heavy and my heart was beating hard against my chest. Without needing a closer look at the man, I knew he was one of my own. A soldier. I slowly moved my eyes down to meet Dan's and then looked back up and down the alley. He was just standing there. He didn't move either backwards or forwards—just stood still and looked around.

"Ist jemand hier?" _(Is there somebody here?)_ sounded his voice suddenly. Every word echoed in my mind and I froze in place. Dan, however, took a small step backwards from me. "Ich weiß dass Sie hier sind. Kommen Sie heraus." _(I know you're in here. Come out.)_

"Phil. Phil, hit me," Dan whispered harshly, shaking me out of trance. "Hit me, Phil. Hit me. He doesn't know me, so hit me. Make it look like you're punishing me for something. You're a soldier. Hit me."

I could hear the panic and desperation in his voice, but I just froze there, unmoving.

"I can't hit first, Phil, you'll have to. Hit me." His voice got higher and higher with each word, and he was anxiously glancing around, trying to gauge how close the soldier was getting.

"But I-I…" I stuttered, confused, as I pressed myself against the wall, my mouth hanging slightly open. I couldn't form intelligible words—not in any language. My brain had stopped functioning at that point, so the only thing left was the internal screaming panic that was rushing through my entire body.

"Hit me." Dan's voice—louder this time. Before I could register what he was doing, he spat in my face, like the Danes so often did. Not once, but twice. But I still couldn't hit him—I couldn't bring myself to lay a hand on him.

I heard a gasp, and then in one quick movement, Dan was being dragged backwards harshly away from me by the unknown soldier. The poor lighting in the alley was just enough for me to make them out, and for the first time, I got a full look at them both.

"Was glaubst du, was du da tust?" _(What do you think you're doing?)_ The question, though in German, must have been for Dan. But when he didn't answer right away, the soldier yanked his hair, pulling Dan's head back against the his shoulder. A flicker of pain spread across Dan's face as he did so.

I moved out of the shadows. The only sounds I could recognise where the sounds of my own breathing, along with my heart beating hard and fast in my throat. My head was spinning and my vision was slowly turning blurry. But I couldn't let it show. I'd have to pretend Dan and I were strangers—that he'd attacked me and now he must punished. There was no choice.

I could still see his lips forming the words 'hit me' over and over again. If I hit him first, before the other soldier got the chance, then he'd become _my_ responsibility. _I'd_ be the one to handle his case, if we got that far, because he'd be _my_ suspect. We had to make this a scene. We had to act as though we didn't know each other—that we hadn't just been talking for months.

The soldier kept holding him firmly, waiting for me. And then in one blink, I did it. I drew my first backwards and hit Dan straight in the face. A smirk appeared on the soldier's face when my hand collided with the boy's skin. It wasn't as hard as I could have, but it was hard enough to convince my colleague that I believed Dan was the enemy.

They had told me I would be proud—that it would be an honour to be fighting for my country. But I'd never felt more disgusted.

Tears formed in my eyes when I saw the blood dripping out of Dan's nose and running down his face. He didn't move an inch, even when my fist met his face for the second time. This time I let the tear fall, thankful that my surroundings were dark enough that no one could see. I looked down at my hand, which was now covered in fresh, red blood. My knuckles were bruised slightly and my whole arm was shaking.

"Did you destroy this poster?" the soldier spat. I knew from experience that English wasn't something they'd try unless they really wanted an answer. "Maybe you did the other posters too, huh?"

"No," Dan lied, which only made the soldier tighten his grip.

"Do not lie to me!" the German yelled, throwing Dan to the ground, hard. He landed straight on his knees and let out a little whimper as he hit the pavement, breaking his fall with his hands. I had to use all my willpower not to bend down—help him, make sure he was okay. Instead, I stayed still; I didn't even look at him. I just stood tall and looked straight ahead, like none of this was important.

"Weisst du, was wir mit Lügnern machen?"_ (Do you know what we do to liars?) _But before Dan got chance to answer, the soldier kicked him straight in the stomach. "Answer!"

Although he couldn't answer before he was kicked again, even harder this time. Dan cried out in pain and I heard the boot connecting with his abdomen for the third time. My stomach wrenched at the sound of it, but there was nothing I could do. Even though my rank was no doubt higher than the street soldier's, there was no way to make him stop without giving too much away. If anyone found out about us, I'd be charged with treason and we'd both be killed on the spot. Right now, Dan was just a normal, rebellious schoolboy and I was just the soldier he'd decided to harass.

"You also a thief?" The kicking had stopped and I dared to look up in their direction again. I had completely forgotten that Dan had been holding my hat, which now the soldier had picked up and was waving in front of Dan, who could barely open his eyes to look. "Wo hast du das her?" _(Where did you get this?)_ he continued, raising his voice further.

My whole world was spinning and my mind was chaotic, but still I managed to choke out, "Es gehört mir." _(It's mine)_ followed by a few deep breaths. No matter what happened to Dan, I couldn't make this personal.

"Kennen Sie Ihn?" _(Do you know him?)_ the soldier asked me. He sounded distrustful.

"Nein," _(No,)_ I lied. I had to force my speech to remain calm because this could very well be the last time I'd breathe fresh air. I didn't know the boy on the ground, no matter how much I hated myself for thinking like that.

The soldier looked me over carefully, his eyes inspecting my entire body. His eyebrows were drawn together like he was concentrating on finding something.

With one loud grunt, he spun around on his heels and marched back to where Dan lay on the ground. My eyes followed him this time, but I wasn't prepared for the sight they took in. Dan was curled up in a tiny human ball while his fragile body trembled violently, unable to hold still. A small puddle of blood was forming on the ground beside his head, but it was too dark to tell exactly from where it came. His breathing was came out in short gasps which worked like knives in my head.

"Get up," the soldier commanded harshly. But Dan didn't listen. "I said… _Get up_!" The man grabbed Dan's messy hair and pulled him violently up from the ground, but Dan only made it to his hands and knees before he started coughing. It wasn't normal coughing either—this was different. It sounded like he was drowning—like there was water in his lungs and each cough was his body's desperate attempt to get oxygen. Shakily, Dan wiped the bloody mucus off his chin before standing up straight on his knees to face the soldier.

Instantly, the soldier drew his gun and pointed it directly at Dan's forehead, pressing the metal against his skin.

"I will count to three and if you have not told the truth…"

Dan didn't move—he didn't even blink while the soldier was pressing the gun to his head. He didn't cry. He just stared back at the soldier with his teeth clenched, not moving an inch while the blood streamed from his forehead and down his face, mixing with the blood from his nose.

The look in Dan's eyes was one I'd never forget. All the hate, all the disgust, all the opposition within him was collected in one place and pointed at just one man. But this one man represented so much more. He represented this entire war. This war that had taken numerous lives already. This war that had forced children to grow up too fast, broken families apart, turned strangers against each other. Seeing this soldier was like seeing every feeling—every emotion you'd had in the last three years—standing right in front of you, ready to kill you without even blinking.

And Dan's weapon of choice—his only defence—was that _look_. And even though it was no match for a loaded gun, that weapon meant so much more than mere metal ever could. That was what war was about. Facing each other, but not caring.

"Ein." _(One.)_

"Zwei." _(two.)_

"Aufhören." _(Stop.)_ I couldn't do it. Of course I couldn't let him kill Dan. He was just an innocent boy—my friend—and he hadn't done anything wrong. "Es gibt keinen Grund ihn zu töten. Er ist doch nur ein Kind," _(No need to kill him. He's just a kid,)_ I said emotionlessly. But on the inside I was screaming. Anger and hatred of my own people burned within me—it was indescribable. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to hurt the man in front of me for even thinking of putting a gun to another's head. That was the real crime here, not the fact that Dan had drawn on a poster.

They both turned towards me and I saw Dan miming an inaudible 'thank you' back at me, letting out a sigh of relief.

The soldier just stared at me in confusion, but didn't question my commands. Without a word, he turned back around, still keeping the gun aimed at Dan's face. I held my breath, but instead of pressing the trigger, he swung the gun around, smacking the end of it hard against the side of Dan's head. He collapsed on the ground in front of the soldier's feet, lifeless.

The thud of the metal colliding with Dan's scalp kept circling around in my mind. I stood completely still, unable to move. My eyes were wide-open, focusing down on the crumpled boy in front of me. Every muscle in my body was trembling, almost burning, from adrenaline and emotions.

"What should we do with him?" a voice asked. It must have been the soldier, but my mind couldn't really register what was going on. He could have just killed my only friend, and all I could do was to stand there.

"Leave him." My brain was working independently. It was trained for war; it was trained to deal with this. But my heart was not. I needed to help him. He was seriously injured and I couldn't do anything. If I as much as blinked at him, they'd know.

The soldier pointed furiously at Dan's unmoving figure. "But isn't he the one we've been looking for?"

"It's not him." I didn't really know what I was doing—I didn't have a plan for this. I had to lie. It wasn't Dan—I didn't know him. This was just a random boy.

"We'll have to bring him back to the barracks," he kept going.

"Können Sie nicht verstehen?" _(Don't you understand?)_ I spat angrily, turning towards him. "I said, _leave him_." I hated myself for even uttering those words, but it was the only way to protect him.

The further we moved away from him, the worse I felt. I was light-headed and confused, my breathing quick and my mouth so dry I couldn't even speak. It was all I could do to keep from crying as we walked off, leaving Dan to bleed on the ground, alone in the abandoned alley. More than anything, I wanted to run back and make sure he was okay—take him home and clean up his wounds and apologise. Apologise for everything.

Unable to stop myself, I turned back around to get what could be the last glimpse I'd ever get of him. The beautiful boy I'd met in the darkness. I didn't know if he'd be okay. I didn't know what would happen to him now. I didn't know if I was ever going to see him again. I didn't even know if he was alive or dead. And it was killing me. It made me feel sick and disgusting and above all else, sorry.

When the soldier had gotten two steps ahead of me, I allowed the tears to begin to fall and run down my cheeks. Because no one deserved this.

I cried for Dan and I couldn't stop. But after all, I was only human.


	6. Chapter VI

**Renegade**

**Words:** 3.799/20.187

**Renegade **VI

* * *

><p><strong>Dan -<strong>

I was sure it was a dream—there was no doubt that it was a dream. It had to be. Everything seemed so surreal, like I was locked out from reality and was instead floating underwater, unable to do anything. It was impossible to breathe, impossible to see, impossible to move. My body was paralysed.

I had no idea where I was, or even how I'd ended up where I was. I could smell blood, so the first place that came to mind was a slaughterhouse. But then I could taste it in my mouth too and I realised it was my own. Consciousness was returning to me in small waves and I ever so slowly started to be able to feel where I was lying. The wet, cold ground was pressed against my cheek. My fingers started trembling first, followed by the rest of me, not only because of the cold, but also because of the building pain flooding through my whole body.

I tried opening my eyes to figure out what was going on, but instantly regretted it as pain shot through my head. I let out a small whimper and squeezed my eyes shut as it did so, waiting for it to wear off. But it didn't. It only grew worse as each second passed by, and not only the pain in my head, but the pain in my stomach also. All my muscles were aching, but I still had to get up and I was so sacred.

Realising that lying in the middle of the street at that time of night was nowhere near safe, I pulled myself up off the ground. The strenuous movements made my stomach turn around painfully, and I'd only made it on my hands and knees before I vomited, using what felt like my last strength to empty my stomach out on the ground in front of me. But it didn't look right. It was dark—almost black. Blood. I could taste it, and not just from what ran down my face. It was coming from inside me.

Panicked, I looked around at the ground and saw it was covered in small puddles of blood as well, which only made the fear and confusion worse. Unsteadily, I moved a hand to my head to check if the blood was mine. I hissed sharply as my fingers touched a wound and pulled my hand back, only to see it covered in more dark, sticky blood. As hard as I tried, I couldn't remember what had happened and I was nearly in tears from confusion and pain. _Where was I? Why was I bleeding? Had I been shot?_ All I knew was that I'd gone to meet with Phil...

_Phil_.

Somehow, I managed to stumble to my feet. My head spun violently and I felt like I would pass out at any moment. Limping heavily, I slowly followed the brick walls out of the alley and all the way down the street, probably leaving bloody hand marks on some of the store windows on my way. But I couldn't care less. I just wanted to get home and pretend like this had never happened. That I'd never met Phil. That I'd never drawn on one single poster.

I couldn't be quiet this time, not like the other times I'd snuck back into the house late at night. I couldn't even see where I was walking now. My body wouldn't cooperate with my brain and I felt drunk and confused. I was shaking uncontrollably and I was so sick and scared.

I only managed to make it halfway up the stairs before I saw the lights being turned on somewhere in the house. That was quickly followed by the sound of footsteps coming towards me, every step echoing in my mind.

"Daniel?" It was my mum's voice asking.

Part of me wanted to answer her because I knew that I couldn't get away with this. But a much larger part of me just wanted to run. Just run before she saw me and never come back.

"Hvad laver du?" _(What are you doing?)_ My mum's voice sounded closer and I started getting more nervous. It wasn't until she was standing right in front of me in the poorly lit hallway that she gasped and threw a hand up to cover her mouth. "Daniel, what is this? Who did this to you?"

"It's nothing..." I slurred as I pushed myself past her. "Just leave me alone." Sleep was the only thing on my mind—I could think of nothing else. But my mum grabbed my arm as I crossed her, making me cry out in pain at the touch.

"Where have you been? Did you get in a fight?" She sounded more sad and frustrated than angry. "What did you do, Dan?" Her grip loosened, which allowed me to get free from her.

"Nothing," I breathed out through clenched teeth. I stumbled unsteadily along the wall all the way to my room with my mum right behind me. The pain was unbearable at this point. "It's nothing," I repeated, and I kept repeating it over and over, even though it was obviously too late to convince her otherwise. She had already seen my face, and from the look in her eyes I could tell that it wasn't pretty.

"Daniel, you tell us who did this to you right now before someone comes knocking on our door and does it for you!" The new voice echoed inside my head—as all noises were doing—but I couldn't register where it was coming from. I kept walking until I reached my bed in the corner of my room.

Once I was sitting down, I looked up again. But I wasn't sure what I was supposed to answer, so I didn't.

"What is this?" Only then did I realise it was my dad speaking. I looked up at him. He was standing tall in front of me, holding up my notebook. "Is this what this is about? Were you destroying German property? Is this some kind of game to you?" His voice was harsh.

"No, you don't understand—" I tried, knowing well that it was too late to make up lies.

"I understand completely! This drawing, Dan, was on a _German poster_." He threw the notebook in my lap, making me flinch as he did. My heart had to be racing at sixty miles per hour; it was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears and feel it in my throat because I was so scared. I did everything I could not to let it show. "I've spent the last three years trying to protect this family and keep us safe through this war! And then you go and throw us all in harm's way so you can pull stupid stunts like this?!"

I glared at him the best I could through my blurred vision. "_Protect us_? Is that what you call what you do when you go along with everything they say? If no one stands up to them, then what's the point?" I asked, my voice determined. "You're just being a coward!"

I regretted my choice of words as soon as I'd said them, but I couldn't hold back anymore. Trying to seem like I didn't care about his reaction, I started wiping off some of the blood with my sleeve, although it was mostly dry already.

"No. I'm just trying to keep this family alive and that's the bravest thing I can do right now. You are risking all of our lives by pulling stupid stunts like this and drawing too much attention to yourself! There's a difference between bravery and stupidity, Daniel, and you crossed the line a long time ago!" he spat. "You're just being selfish now!"

"Am I being selfish?" I choked out. "Who is it that invites all the _German officers_ to dinner parties once a week?"

"You cannot compare those two things! Do you think I'm _glad_ about having them in my home?"

"Well you never tell me anything so how should I know?!"

We were both yelling now and my head was starting to spin even more. This was the longest conversation I'd had with my dad since the war began. The fact that it should be like this made me sad, but also only fueled my anger towards him.

"It's not my decision to make!" he exclaimed. "Do you have it in your brain that this will actually help something? Because it won't! It's foolish and childish. You're just a boy! You're not a soldier, Daniel!"

"I'm not trying to be a soldier! Powers reside where people believe they reside," I quoted. "I'm just trying to show them that they can't walk all over us."

The secret had been broken; I was vulnerable now.

"But they _can _and they_ will_!" he shouted back. "It doesn't work like that. This is not your battle—it's for someone else to fight. You are _my_ _son_. I will not have you acting like - like some stupid _renegade_!" He spat out the last word in disgust.

"Better than being a pushover!" I exclaimed in anger.

"No. Better to be alive. Wars never work out for the renegades!"

After that he just turned around and stormed out of the room, leaving me feeling empty. I started crying because now I was powerless. The situation was too much for me to handle. In one night, I had placed my entire family in jeopardy; we could be killed now, and it would be entirely my own fault. So I just sobbed.

Eventually, my mum tried to calm me down, to convince me that we'd be alright, but it was useless. My whole world had just fallen apart in my hands.

XxXxXxX

Over a week passed before I allowed myself to go outside again. No one had contacted us yet, but it didn't mean it wouldn't happen. Anxiety still filled me every time someone knocked on our door.

With the thoughts still circling in my head, I left the house for the first time after what felt like ages. I just needed to find him, and so I did.

"What are you doing here?"

I didn't run into him this time. I hadn't been sure I'd even meet him there anyway. But I had to try, so I'd waited. And I'd waited for a long time, not that I cared because it felt so good to be breathing in fresh air again.

"I knew you would be here," I mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact. Instead, I focused on the soft ground beneath my feet.

He shouldn't be seeing me like this. I didn't want to make him feel bad, and I knew that this would. He'd done this to me, and even though it'd been the only option to save our lives, he'd still done this to me.

"You mentioned this place in your letters," I continued nervously.

I glanced around. It was beautiful. I could understand why he'd said he'd come here when he needed peace. The only noise breaking the silence was the sound of birds singing. The warm summer breeze kissed my skin and the smell of grass and flowers surrounded me. It was like a picture from a book, and for a moment, it didn't even feel real.

I felt Phil stepping closer until he was standing right in front of me. He gently placed a hand under my chin to lift my head. My heartbeat quickened slightly by his touch, and it skipped a beat once my eyes were locked together with his. The pain in his eyes was impossible to describe. His gaze travelled across the bandage on my forehead, continuing down past my blue-and-yellow bruises, and ending at my bandage-covered wrists.

"I am—" He paused briefly, as if the words were hurting him, "—so sorry, Dan."

That was all he said, but I didn't need more than that to know that he meant it. The truth in his voice was obvious. This was the memory I wanted to keep of him. I wanted to remember the _real_ Phil. He wasn't a soldier. He wasn't a bad person for doing what he did. And I wanted—I _needed—_to remember that.

With that picture in my head, I opened my arms and wrapped them loosely around his waist, just holding him. I just wanted to hold him to know he was there. And when I felt Phil laying his hand on my sore and fragile body, I started crying silently, the past few years falling over me all at once. It was too overwhelming.

I couldn't stop the tears, but at the same time, I didn't want to. It felt like such a relief, being able to cry properly, and he seemed to understand. My choked sobs mixed with the pain that was still haunting my body made it harder and harder to stand. I started shaking, but Phil supported me in his arms.

"I'm scared too," Phil breathed out, almost too soft to hear. "I'm so scared, Dan." His voice was thick.

We were just standing there, trying to block out the world around us. Nothing about this was right, but I couldn't care less. It was so calm—just the feeling of Phil running his hands down my back in soft, comforting movements. I didn't want him to stop, even though it hurt a little every time he brushed against a bruise.

My breathing grew deeper instead of gasping, and my head gradually stopped spinning as I stopped crying. But I didn't want to let go.

"I ruined your shirt," I mumbled into his neck.

"Don't think about it—not for a second," he assured me. "Come on." He released me from his arms and guided me down to a bench beside the water so we could sit down. I followed him without any questions.

"Don't cry." He smiled as he moved his thumb across my cheek to wipe off the tears once we'd sat down. The smile couldn't hide the sadness in his eyes. Still, I smiled back.

We both focused out on the water for a while without saying anything more.

Phil broke the silence. "I'm going back to Germany…" he said emotionlessly. I turned to face him, but he was still looking straight ahead as he spoke.

"You can't do that," I said quickly, before he got the chance to say anything else.

"It's not my decision to make, Dan," he tried. "I can't change the orders—"

"But why?" I interrupted. I lifted my chin up and turned fully around to face him, breathing heavily.

The more I looked at him, the more he started tearing up. He let out a shaky breath, followed by a nervous smile. "I don't know what's going to happen to me, Dan. But they're not happy… Do you understand what I'm telling you?" He looked so frightened and yet so sorry at the same time.

"They can't do that. They can't. You-You're innocent!" I furiously shook my head, not wanting to make it too obvious that I had tears in my eyes too. "You can't go back. We… I'm going to think of something!"

"Dan..."

"We'll smuggle you to Sweden! Or... hide you here. I can hide you. I know someone in the countryside. We… I—"

"Dan, listen…"

"No! They can't this, Phil! It's illegal. There's always something. We'll find a solution. You can't go back!"

He just couldn't leave; I wouldn't let him. Just thinking about what was going to happen to him made my stomach turn around. The war was getting too close again. I knew him—he was my friend. And now it would be over, just like that. He'd be forgotten in history, and no one would remember the soldier who'd saved my life.

"What _we're_ doing is illegal, Dan. There's nothing we can do."

"I-I did this!" I was sobbing somehow without really crying. "It's my fault, so I'm gonna make it right," I said, determined. I couldn't just surrender like this. _He_ was innocent—_I_ was the offender. He shouldn't be paying for my actions.

"Dan, stop it!" Phil burst out. "Don't you get it? It's over. We lost. End of story. Understand?"

His voice was raised and I was taken aback by it, so I didn't say more. He was right, of course. I didn't have the power to change anything. A lump was forming in my throat, but I promised myself not to start crying again. It wouldn't help anyway. It couldn't change the fact that he was going back.

So I just nodded, because I understood. No matter how much I'd known something like this was coming, it still it made me feel empty inside. The pain of realisation.

"Promise me you'll be okay…" I murmured thickly. "You'll have to promise me you'll be okay." The desperation in my voice was obvious.

"I can't promise that." Quickly, he wiped the tears from his cheek with the back of his hand. "And I'm so s-sorry," he continued shakily.

I shook my head at him. All this was my fault. I was the reason this all was happening. I should have never asked him to meet up again. We'd had such a good thing going and I'd loved it so much, finally being able to talk to someone without being scared. But we'd gotten in too deep—taken too many risks—and now we were nothing _but _scared. And it was all my fault.

"I haven't told them anything. But they know. There's no doubt." He paused quickly to get his breathing under control. "You'll have to stop, Dan. If they find you, they're going to kill you. You need to stop everything you're doing." His gaze locked with mine as he talked, making sure I caught every word he said. "You cannot speak to any German soldier. Don't do anything more and they should leave you alone. Promise me—you'll have to promise me you won't do anything, Dan. Promise me," he begged.

"I promise," I breathed out. "I promise I won't do anything."

And that was the truth. I'd never meant to put anyone but myself in danger by my actions. But now Phil was risking his own life to protect me.

Maybe my dad was right… It never works out for the renegades.

"We need to burn the letters. We can't leave anything." He paused. "Erase me, Dan. Erase every memory you have about me. We never met because I've never existed, okay? I don't want them to find you."

But that I couldn't agree to, so I just shook my head. "You saved my life and for that I'll be forever grateful, Phil. I'll never forget you. No matter how much I try, I'll never forget as long as I live. And I'm sorry, but I can't," I said, determined. "I can burn the letters, I can lie, but I can _never_ forget you."

Phil sighed, but didn't say anything in return. Sitting in silence, he just lifted up his hand to lightly brush his fingers against the damaged skin around my eye. It didn't hurt so much anymore, so I let him.

"That one is going to leave a scar," I said softly, pointing at my forehead. "What happened to me, Phil?"

My memories from that night were still so blurry that I couldn't distinguish between reality and dreams. All I knew for certain was that if not for Phil, I wouldn't even be sitting here.

"The soldier pointed a gun at you. He was going to shoot you, but I stopped him and he hit you in the head instead…" He spoke the words in a low voice while looking away, clearly ashamed. "And then you were knocked out. After that I don't know what happened because we had to leave. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done."

I nodded at his explanation, still not remembering.

We didn't say more; we didn't need to say more. But I liked the silence. It was the kind of independent silence where you didn't have to say anything to be heard because the person next to you understands without words. We just sat there, and for a moment I felt like laughing, though I didn't know why.

"I'm glad you spoke English when we met. Or else we wouldn't have talked," I said quietly.

"Maybe I shouldn't have so we wouldn't be standing in this mess." Phil let out a nervous laugh as he spoke. "But I'm glad I got to know someone like you through this." A smile spread across his lips—a true smile.

I nodded as I watched him stand up from the bench. "I'll have to leave now, Dan," he sighed.

I nodded in response, standing up too. "I have something for you before you go," I started nervously.

Phil looked curiously at me, his eyebrows drawn together, as I handed him a bunch of brown curled pages I'd kept on me. Without questioning it, he held up the fragile papers to get a better look at the front page. I felt my heart beating faster while he read it.

"Renegade?" Phil asked quietly.

"It's a story. About a boy who fell in love with a soldier..." I explained, not looking away as I did. "Finish it, Phil. I don't know how it ends. I want you to finish it," I breathed out heavily. "All stories have endings, but this one is still without."

But Phil didn't answer me—not with words. Instead, he carefully pulled me into a hug, his hands once again resting gently on my back. It was like all pain and fear vanished in that moment. All problems became small.

"Don't forget me, Phil. Promise me you won't forget me," I whispered into the back of his neck, burying my fingers in the fabric of his shirt.

"I could never forget you, Dan." He let me go and for a moment our eyes met for what would probably be the last time. He smiled calmly as he hid the papers I'd given him in his coat. Then he turned around and started walking down the path, my gaze following him all the way.

"See you after this, okay?" I called after him. Because that was what I wanted to believe. My words made him turn back around so he could look at me.

"See you after this," he called back, grinning.

This was the ending of my story, because that was what I wanted to remember.


	7. Chapter VII

**Renegade**

**Words:** 1.775/20.187

**Renegade **VII

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><p><strong>Phil -<strong>

The year is 1946. My name is Phil Lester and I'm a twenty-three year old retired German soldier, walking through the streets of Copenhagen for the first time in three years.

I'd never thought I'd see this place again and it felt somehow liberating to be back, like not even a second had passed by. Everything looked the same. I could still remember the names of the roads and some of the shops, but the streets were deserted now. Germany had been left in ruins and poverty from the war, so walking on the Danish streets made me feel both amazed by how little had been destroyed and also a little jealous. My own home would never be the same again.

I turned the corner to find the road I was seeking, which led down to the lake I'd once loved so dearly. That was the place where I'd formed one of my strongest memories—the day I'd told Dan I was going back to Germany. Somehow, it managed to be both one of my fondest and one of my worst memories. I still couldn't quite figure out how that worked.

As I walked on, the ground around me transformed into a green forest trail. I followed it without even thinking, just as I'd done so many times all those years ago.

When the lake was within sight, I stopped to breathe in the fresh air and just take in my surroundings. Absolutely nothing had changed. Every tree, every leaf, and every blade of grass seemed to be in the same place. I couldn't help but smile at the sight of it. The small boathouse had been abandoned in the meantime and was slowly becoming home to a few tree branches, which had grown straight through the open windows.

The bench beside the water was still standing, but it was nearly impossible to see because of the high grass encircling it. I carefully sat down on the fragile wood so I could admire the calm view of the lake I'd missed so much. The weather today was exactly the same as the last time I'd been here: summer-ish, but not quite. It was neither too hot nor too cold. Just perfect.

"Phil?" I heard a small voice whisper from behind me. I thought I recognised it. It sounded both confused and scared, which made my heart beat faster in nervousness and excitement.

Then I saw him, standing there, right in front of me. And he looked so beautiful—more beautiful than I'd remembered. The way the sunlight perfectly fell on his face made a warm sensation spread through my entire body.

"Dan…" I breathed out before jumping up from the bench to stand in front of him. It was like a huge weight was being lifted from my shoulders to see him standing there in front of me. He was in the same place I'd left him, all those years ago.

Neither of us moved for what seemed like an eternity. We were just staring at each other, unable to believe what we were seeing. For a moment, it was like looking into the past—re-entering old memories as if nothing had changed. But of course it had changed. Everything was different this time.

The war was over.

Dan ran towards me, closing the remaining distance between us. His body collided with mine and he threw his arms around me, causing me to stumble a few steps backwards so I wouldn't fall over by the sudden impact. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and squeezed him tightly into a hug. I was finally holding him again, and it made my heart skip a beat in excitement.

"You've grown," I said, remembering that the last time I'd needed to bend my knees a bit to get on his level. But not anymore.

"You haven't," Dan laughed into the back of my neck. His laugh circled in my mind for a moment. It was the first time I'd heard it in three long years, and it felt amazing. I started laughing too. I was happy—really and truly happy. It was the kind of happiness you had to search for, but then once you found it, you knew that you didn't need anything else. I didn't need anything besides this moment.

"Ever since the war ended, I've been visiting this place every day," Dan mumbled. "In hopes that you'd show up…"

"And I did," I answered, releasing him from my grip.

"You did."

"I've wanted to see you again from the moment I turned my back to you, Dan," I said, carefully choosing my words as I did. "You were the only good thing to come out of this war—the only thing I was proud of doing. Becoming your friend."

His face blushed a light shade of red while I talked, but still he didn't move his gaze away from me. I kept staring too, exploring every inch of him like it was the first time I'd ever seen him. His hair was shorter now, making it possible for me to see the scar on his forehead. I slowly and gently ran my fingers over it.

"My plan has always been to come back to you when the war ended," I said.

"I didn't believe you'd make it. I didn't know where they'd sent you..." Dan sighed quietly. "I lived a year in the unknown."

"I was scared—"

"I know," he cut me off. "And I was too."

"There are so many things I didn't get the chance to tell you," I continued. "And I don't know where to begin." I choked out a small laugh. "While I was back in Germany, fighting in the war, not a single day passed by when I didn't think of you," I went on. "There's something special about you, Daniel Howell."

"What's so special about me, _Philip Lester_?" he teased.

I wanted to tell him everything: how he'd changed my perspective about this entire war. How he'd made me even surer of what I believed in. He'd stood up against his enemy while everyone else was scared. He'd made me realise that war doesn't just bring out the worst in people—it separates the brave ones from the cowards. And Dan was one of the bravest people I'd ever met in my life.

I wanted to tell him all of that and more, but the words seemed to get caught in my throat. We were standing so close that our chests were touching. I wasn't holding him, just staring at him, and it was like seeing him for the first time. He was so beautiful and flawless. So perfect that I could fall in love with him all over again. And it felt like I was a little bit, because everything was different now.

"I've waited three years for this..." I breathed out. Without hesitation, I pressed my lips against Dan's. At first he felt tense against me, like he was taken by surprise, and I briefly second-guessed myself. But still, he didn't pull back, and after a moment he melted into the kiss. I placed one arm around his wrist, allowing me to pull him closer, and as I did so, our bodies collided into something more intimate than a hug. It felt both scary and amazing at the same time.

In that moment, the world was ours. And we were lost: his lips on mine; his hand in my hair, pulling gently at my locks; my hand around his waist, moving in small circles on his back; my fingers tracing his every contour. I tangled my free hand with his and we locked our fingers together. His skin was just as soft as I'd remembered. My heart skipped a beat at the touch, sending shivers down my spine.

I couldn't have wished for more because everything about this was perfect. Time stood still and we were completely consumed by one another, unconcerned by anything outside of ourselves.

We broke apart to catch our breath. I rested my forehead on his, breathing heavily, a wide smile spreading across my face as I focused on nothing besides him. He was now my entire world—I didn't need anything else.

Dan let out a quiet giggle as he bit his lip, seeming almost shy by the way he was blushing. And he looked so beautiful.

"What happened to you, Phil? Back in Germany?" he asked. But his words only sounded as a whisper.

"I guess you can read the book to find out," I quietly replied, trailing my thumb across his flushed cheek.

Dan seemed surprised. "You finished it?"

"Of course. I said I would, didn't I?" I smiled as I searched my pocket for the little book with the brown leather cover that Dan had started all those years ago. The golden letters on the front cover—_R-E-N-E-G-A-D-E_—shone in a ray of sunlight as I handed the book to him. I'd had it bound in leather, rather than the pile of papers he'd given to me.

He didn't say anything—just let his eyes scan the book in silence. I followed his movements, watching the way he gently opened it up like it was made of glass and slowly started leafing through the almost untouched pages. I watched him smile, and the smile stayed with him as he lifted his head to look at me.

"It's amazing." His words were low, but honest—I could tell. "And it has the perfect ending now," Dan laughed. The sound of his laugh sent warm vibrations through my entire body and I just wished that the time would stand still. "Thank you."

And for once, there was peace.

_Das Ende_

"And that's how the story ends," I finished telling him. Still knelt on the ground, I closed the leather-bound book in my hands. "The story about the boy who fell in love with the soldier… and the soldier who loved him back."

I smiled up at him with tears in my eyes. My vision blurred, I reached across the colourful flowers to place the book on the cold, black stone.

"I guess we can't always predict the endings," I breathed out thickly. I allowed the warm tears to fall freely as there was no way of stopping them now, even though Dan wouldn't have wanted that. "But we'll always be renegades."

I stood up and stepped back a few paces, taking in the full sight in front of me for the first time:

_Daniel James Howell_

_11. 6. 1927 - 17. 12 . 1944_

_Elsket og savnet_

"Until I see you again, Daniel."


	8. Epilogue

**Renegade**

**Words: **2.342

**Renegade **epilogue

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><p><strong>Phil <strong>

"This came for you, Phil."

Her tone changed slightly as she handed the envelope to me, like she'd suddenly become nervous.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's from Denmark," she said simply. Carefully, as though the paper might burn my fingers, I took it from her. Her forehead wrinkled up in concern and she sighed deeply before turning to leave me alone in my study.

Part of me wanted her to stay, but I knew this was something I needed to do on my own.

My eyes moved from the vacant doorway down to the thick brown envelope in my hand. My full name and address were written across the top in elegant, feminine handwriting. Each word was flawless and careful. My heart skipped a beat just looking at it. Fifteen years had passed since the war had ended, and now I was sitting there, holding a piece of my past between my fingers.

Hands shaking, I opened the envelope and let its contents fall out into my lap. I was confused at first, as what had to be close to a hundred small papers flew out, all brown and curled at the edges. Only the final note to flutter down into my lap was different—white and neatly folded, with my name carefully inscribed on the front. It read:

_Dear Mr. Philip Lester,  
>I have found these letters hidden in the floorboards in my son's room of our old house in Denmark. They are all addressed with your name, and it seems as though Daniel's last wish was to give them to you. It has taken me years to locate you, and I cannot even be sure that you are really the right person. But I had to try, for Dan's sake. <em>

_Sincerely, _

_Diana Howell._

I let the note drop from my fingers as I stared blankly out into the air in front of me. My body felt numb. It was like looking back—discovering lost memories. It'd been so long that sometimes, when I thought of him, it didn't feel real anymore.

"Dan..." I murmured to myself. Only now, I registered the handwriting on the brown papers. It was his. Suddenly, I started getting nervous. All these letters were from him—his last words to me before he'd died. Hands shaking, I picked up the first one.

**July 21, 1943.**  
><em>Dear Phil.<br>I feel as though I need to write to you still, so I am. It feels weird though. Like writing to a ghost. Or writing to the past. _

_I still check our book in the forgotten school corridor from time to time. I know it will be empty, but I guess I just miss you…_

Glancing from the letter in my hand to the pile on my lap, I realised that it would take me hours to read them all. Already, my throat felt tight and tears threatened to escape my eyes. I wouldn't be able to get through them all—not today anyway. I set down the paper in my hand and carefully picked up a different one.

**September 13, 1943.**  
><em>…Denmark is boring now that you're gone. But I am still keeping my promise. I don't bother the Germans anymore. Not even their hats…<em>

Even though it hurt to remember, I couldn't help but smile.

**December 24, 1943.  
><strong>_…I like Christmas. I like the colours, the tree, and the food. I like snow, and I even still like the idea of Santa Claus. Maybe I do really believe in him, or maybe it's just that I want to believe that there is something beautiful and peaceful out there in the midst of this ugliness. I like it, the hope that maybe there's someone out there somewhere, putting smiles on little children's faces…_

**January 1, 1944.  
><strong>_Happy New Year, Phil. Let's hope this year is shorter than the others._

I sighed deeply and ran a hand through my hair before choosing another letter from further down the stack.

**May 12, 1944.**  
><em>…It has been a year now, Phil. I still miss you. I wonder where you are—if you're even still alive. Of course you are. Is it better in Germany? Sometimes I forget you can't answer me. I wish you could. It's been a whole year now, but I can still remember your face, your smile…<em>

I had to stop and stare at his words for a minute. I couldn't believe he'd kept writing letters to me after all that time.

**June 11, 1944.**  
><em>…I went to the lake today. It's my birthday. Seventeen years old, and for the first time, I just want to jump in the water and let myself sink. I've never wanted to be dead before, Phil. But today I do. But it's a strange feeling because I don't want to die—I just want to be dead. Just, not to exist so I didn't have to look at this world anymore. But maybe it's just because it's my birthday and that makes me realise the time…<em>

As much as it hurt to read those words from Dan, I understood what he meant. There were many long nights when I'd lie in my bed and wonder just what I was doing anymore—what the point of it all was.

**July 28, 1944.**  
><em>…Summer is nice. At least when it's not raining. Do you have nice summers in Germany? I always forget you can't answer me… maybe you will be able to someday.<br>My parents have sent me to the countryside to visit my cousins this summer. We used to come here back when I was a child, but only to visit my grandparents. They're gone now, so my uncle took over their farm and married the neighbour girl and they have two small children who I can call cousins. They're so precious, Phil! Maybe I'll want a family someday—two, maybe three kids. But only if the war ends soon. I can't imagine putting another helpless soul into this messed up world…_

**September 6, 1944.**_  
>…It could have been me, Phil. I sometimes think about what would have happened if it'd hadn't been you who'd walked down the alley that first night when we met. Do you think I would have been shot too? The boy from Bredevad… he was my age. He was only making a bit of trouble, but he was shot and killed by a German soldier. It could have been me…<em>

**October 23, 1944.  
><strong>_…I'm happier now than I've been in a long time. I'm not afraid of smiling anymore. My father seems to have realised some things and he's listening to me again, talking to me again. We're spending time together, and it's good. We still must have our dinners with the soldiers, but I'm not forced to participate anymore.  
>Yesterday, we built a model airplane together, and I heard him laugh. I had almost forgotten how that sounded. I laughed too. Maybe the world will get better someday…<em>

**November 27, 1944.**  
><em>…I'm staying home from school today because I'm ill, so I thought I could write to you, as there's nothing else to do. Not that you'll see it anyway, but I like to think you will. I still kind of miss you, Phil. What has it been now? A year and a half? I would have said that the time moves fast, like you always did, but to me it's a lie. The time doesn't move at all. At least not in a war it doesn't…<em>

**December 4, 1944.**  
><em>…I'm still home. And I'm still bored. It has been a week now. My mum says it's the flu, and it feels like it. Maybe I should start writing you another book while I'm just lying in bed anyway. I don't know. It's hard to think. The fever is making it hard for me to even hold a pencil, let alone think of words…<em>

I swallowed hard as I stopped reading for a moment.

**December 8, 1944.**  
><em>…It's not the flu, Phil. The doctor says it's "croup<em>_**"**__. I can't really breathe anymore. It's hard. I can't get out of bed either. Just thinking of it is a fight itself. And I'm sorry if you can't read my words. You'll probably never see these letters anyway. My parents don't know I'm writing, but I guess I just want you to know…_

The rest of the paper was impossible to read. The letters were all mushed together and wobbly. I found the next one.

**December 12, 1944.**  
><em>…My version is blurry all the time now. Writing is really hard, I'm sorry. Talking is harder though. Thinking too. Everything gets mixed together. Memories of you... There's a lot of things I never got the chance to tell you, Phil. I like your eyes. They're blue, aren't they? Please correct me if I'm wrong—I can't really remember anymore. I like your laugh. I <em>_definitely__ remember your laugh...  
>If I could turn back time and live in the past, I would. There wasn't so much pain back then. There was more than blurry thoughts and missing memories, wasn't there?<em>

A knot tightened in my throat. Only now, I realised how much he'd suffered.

**December 14, 1944.**  
><em>…I'll keep writing to you, Phil. I don't have anyone else to talk to anymore. My mum cries all the time and I don't like to listen to it. We'll never see each other again… have you thought about that? We're going to be forgotten. We're just going to be two more humans, without any voice, stuck in a war… <em>

**December 15, 1944.**  
><em>…I didn't want you to leave that day at the lake. I wanted to run after you, but I knew I couldn't. If not for you, I would probably have been dead long before this. Imagine if we got to grow old together? I would love you every day. And every morning I would give you a kiss. And every evening I would tell you how I missed you while we were apart. It's a funny thought, but I like it. And I miss you. I miss you more than most things actually. If I should make a list your name would be first…<em>

**December 15, 1944.**_  
>…I want to live to see my country be free, Phil. I want to see my people be happy. I don't want to be scared anymore. I want to see you again before I die. I want to hold you and be with you. I want to remember freedom. I want to die free. It's funny because I always knew I might be killed for what I was doing and the idea never bothered me. But this… well, I guess the war got me anyway. You can't always predict the endings…<em>

It wasn't only because of my tear-filled eyes that it was difficult to make out Dan's writing. His words were written with pain. It was obvious he'd been crying over them, struggling to write each letter. I paused to wipe the corners of my eyes before reaching for the final paper in the stack.

**December 16, 1944.**  
><em>…It's weird lying here when you know you're going to die. Like, you just know it. I thought I'd be more scared, but I'm not. I'm angry, Phil. And sad. But I'm not scared of dying. Not anymore.<em>

Now it was my turn to leave marks on the paper in my hand. Unimpeded, the tears slid down my cheeks to rest atop Dan's fifteen-year-old ink splotches. Even though the two sets of tears were from different people, separated by both time and place, the pain behind them hadn't changed.

Dan had had dreams and hopes just like everyone else, and it wasn't fair he hadn't gotten the chance to live them out. He'd only been seventeen when he'd died—just a kid. It wasn't fair.

I put Dan's last note away to look up at the bookshelf in front of me. There it stood—a book with a brown leather cover and golden letters—just as it stood on bookshelves of thousands of other homes across the world. _Renegade_. His actions and bravery were finally published for everyone to read. Pride for him rushed through me and I couldn't help but smile through the tears. His voice would never be forgotten now.

"Why are you crying, daddy?"

My thoughts were interrupted by a small, confused voice coming from the doorway.

"Hmm? Oh, just missing an old friend, that's all." I put on a wide smile and quickly dried my eyes as my little six-year-old, brown-haired son entered the room.

"Come here." I opened up my arms, allowing him to run into me so I could pick him up. As soon as I grabbed him, he started laughing.

Anna stepped into the room with her arms crossed against her chest, her best attempt at a stern, motherly look. "Okay you two—time for bed." But still she was smiling. She was always smiling.

"But daddy needs to tell me a bedtime story first!" he complained.

"A bedtime story?" I asked. "Now when did I ever agree to that?"

"Tell me a story from the war!" he begged.

"Hmm, a story from the war you say..." I placed him down, letting him sit on the sofa himself.

"Tell the one about the boy stealing the hats!" he asked happily, even though he had probably heard that one at least fifty times.

"Huh… I don't think I remember that one..." I said, still sounding like I didn't know what he was talking about.

"You do!"

I wiggled my fingers at him playfully. "Is it the one that started with a tickle fight?" I asked, pulling up his shirt. "Oh! I think it did!"

And I made him laugh, just as I did every day. He could have a real life—one without war and without worries. It was all I wanted for him.

"Goodnight, my little Daniel," I whispered, kissing him on the forehead. "I love you."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Thanks to everyone who read this story! It was really hard to write and plan and everything, and I've used A LOT of time on it. So thank you for reading ^^


	9. Timeline

**Renegade**

**A/N: **When I realised I was confusing myself with this story I decided to make a timeline so we all know what happened. I hope this will make sense.

**Renegade **TIMELINE

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><p><strong>January 30, 1943:<strong> Dan and Phil meet for the first time in the alley. Dan is sixteen years old while Phil is twenty.

**March 15, 1943: **Phil writes the first letter to Dan and hides it in the book.

**May 4, 1943:** Phil writes the last letter to Dan agreeing to meet up again in the alley where they first met.

**May 5, 1943:** Dan and Phil meet again. Another German soldier finds them in the alley and beats Dan to unconsciousness. Phil then leaves Dan to bleed on the ground.

**May 12, 1943:** Dan waits for Phil by the lake because he knew it was his favourite place. Phil tells Dan he has to go back to Germany. This is the last time they saw each other.

**June 21, 1943 to December 16, 1944:** Dan writes letters to Phil even though he's not able to send them because he doesn't know where Phil is or if he is still alive.

**December 17, 1944:** Dan dies of croup. (A serious infection. It was a very common disease in Scandinavia doing the Second World War.)

**September, 1945:** World War Two ends.

**July, 1946:** Phil travels back to Denmark in hopes of finding Dan. He finished writing the book Dan gave him and he ended their story, so he wants to return it. But he only finds Dan's grave. He don't know what happened to him.

**1946:** Phil moves with his mother and little brother to England because he's scared he will be declared guilty of treason.

**1949:** Phil marries his girlfriend, Anna, who is pregnant with their first child. They name the little boy after Dan.

**1954:** Phil publishs "Renegade" as a real book so everyone in the world get the chance to read about Dan's actions and about how a simple sixteen-year-old tried to change the world all by himself.

**1955:** Phil gets sent all the letters Dan wrote to him before he died, but never got the chance to send himself.

**1955-: **Phil lives happily with his family ^^


End file.
